


Handle with Care

by amandateaches



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mild Language, Pie, Thanksgiving, Things catching on fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 12:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21458317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amandateaches/pseuds/amandateaches
Summary: While cooking Dean a special Thanksgiving pie, you have a little “accident” in the kitchen, leading to some fun with a fire extinguisher.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & You, Dean Winchester/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	Handle with Care

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for @stunudo for my Fall “drabbles”, a term I use loosely because none of them have actually been drabbles. Her request was “Reader tries to bake Dean a pie he’s never had before? (I suck at fluff, idk but I wanted to send something fun in.) xoxo.” You do not suck at fluff, Stu, I loved this request! Also written for Pie for @spndeanbingo and Free Space for @spngenrebingo

It was no secret that there were very few things in this world that Dean Winchester loved more than pie. 

Well, of course, Sam and Baby were definitely up there for sure, but pie was, without a doubt, in the top 5 of Dean’s favorite things.

So, when Thanksgiving rolled around, you’d been excited to volunteer for dessert duty. You’d thought that if you could make Dean the best pumpkin pie he’d ever had, you’d be able to show him how much he meant to you, something you could never get up the nerve to tell him yourself. But, when you’d overheard Dean talking to Sam about not having much to be thankful for this year, you became even more determined to make this a Thanksgiving he’d never forget.

You quickly decided that the traditional pumpkin pie wouldn’t be special enough for Dean this year. If you really wanted him to have something special, you’d need to get a little more creative to knock it out of the park. So, you decided to look up recipes for pies that Dean had never had before, something he would really love. After a lot (and lot) of research, you finally settled on a pie that combined all of Dean’s favorite things: Whiskey Bacon Irish Apple.

You wanted it to be perfect, so you decided to do a test run before Thanksgiving, gathering all of the ingredients and locking yourself away in the kitchen. You had just started cutting the apples when the door cracked open, and Dean popped his head in. “Hey…” he started hopefully.

“Nuh uh,” you interrupted, holding your hand up to stop him. “I told you, Dean, no sneak peeks.”

“Oh, come on,” he begged, pushing the door open fully and shuffling in, his hands folded in a silent plea. His eyes were as big as a puppy’s, and you bit your lip to keep from laughing, turning away from him so he wouldn’t see.

“No, Dean. It’s supposed to be a surprise. No. Sneak. Peeks.”

He raised his hand, pushing his index finger and thumb together until they were just a few centimeters apart. “Just a little one? Please….”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling softly to yourself. Damn, he was hard to resist. “Fine, you can stay, but only while I mix the filling. After that, you’re out, got it?”

“Got it,” Dean promised solemnly, plopping down on one of the island stools with a grin. “Scout’s honor.”

“Ha!” you laughed. “Like you were ever a boy scout.”

Dean chuckled deeply as you turned back to your apples, making the last few cuts. When you were finished, you threw them into a pan, turning the flame on low. “Alright,” you whispered. “Time for the magic touch.”

You pulled a few pieces of bacon from the package on the table and added them to a second, already hot pan. As they began to crackle and sizzle, you heard Dean moan behind you. “Ohhh…”

“Like what you see?” you laughed. Pausing, you picked up the whiskey bottle sitting on the counter next to you, smiling knowingly. “Just wait ‘til you see what’s next.”

Dean stared at you in anticipation, and you couldn’t help but show off, moving a little slower as you spun back to your pans. The bacon was still sizzling in the hottest one, so you turned towards the low-heat pan with the apples, preparing to add the whiskey. But, before you could, you looked over your shoulder, making the mistake of establishing eye contact with Dean’s intensely eager gaze. You smiled back at him and tipped the bottle to pour it, but your divided attention led you to accidentally push your hand a little too far to the left, right towards the bacon.

It felt like it all happened in slow motion, tipping the bottle, looking back to see it hit the scalding, bacon-coated plan, the cloud of burning hot steam flying back at you. Before you knew it, the flames were rising up, the alcohol feeding them up and into the air.

“Oh my God!” you screamed, raising your hand to shield your face. Within seconds, Dean was there, having catapulted over the island to stand in front of you. He grabbed a towel and began beating back the flame, trying to reach the burners.

“Y/N, quick, get back!”

You stepped back, watching as Dean continued to use the towel as half-weapon, half-shield against the high flames. Looking around, you struggled to find a way to help him, your eyes eventually landing on the fire extinguisher Sam had insisted on mounting in the corner. You ran over and grabbed it before sprinting back to Dean.

“Okay, okay, okay,” you yelled, adjusting the extinguisher in your hand, pointing the hose at Dean and feeling for the lever. “Hold on, Dean, I got it!”

“Y/N, wait!” Dean warned, his hand already on the burner, but it was too late. You pulled the lever, spraying thick, white foam all over the stove, and all over Dean.

When you looked up, you gasped, one hand flying to your mouth to cover the laugh that you couldn’t stop from escaping. In front of you, the fire was out, but Dean was covered head to toe in the white, soapy fire-killing foam. 

He looked like a giant, grumpy marshmallow.

You giggled and placed the fire extinguisher on the ground. “Dean, I am so, so sorry…” you started, but your continued laughter took some of the sincerity from your words.

“You know…” Dean grumbled, wiping the foam away from his face with the back of his hand. “I think I could’ve handled that one without your ‘help’.”

“Sorry?” you repeated, but the smile on your face told a different story, and Dean noticed.

“Oh, you think this is funny, huh?” Dean sassed, crossing his arms over his chest, the movement making them slip and slide.

“A little,” you laughed, nodding vigorously.

Dean grinned, his eyes twinkling. “Well, then, maybe I should give some to you.” He opened his arms wide, moving to hug you, but you shook your head, stepping back.

“Oh, no, Dean, don’t you dare!” You held up your finger in warning, but he ignored it, his grin widening.

“Oh, I dare,” Dean growled, moving at lightning speed towards you. You shrieked and rushed away, running around the kitchen, but he quickly caught you, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you high up off the floor. You squealed and struggled a little, but he had you, pulling you down until you were both lying on the floor, covered in foam, with Dean hovering over you, his weight propped up on one forearm while his other arm stayed firmly wrapped around your waist.

He gently lifted one hand and brushed the hair out of your face, leaving a streak of foam behind. “There that’s better.”

You grinned, letting out a sigh. “I guess that recipe was a fail, huh?”

He cracked a smile, shaking his head. “Nah, definitely not a fail. You kidding me? Bacon and whiskey? Home run. Maybe next time, I’ll actually get to try it before you set the place on fire.”

You laughed before stilling in his arms, your breath catching as you stared into his eyes. “I just wanted to make you happy, give you something to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. I heard you talking to Sam…”

His eyes widened, understanding dawning on him. “Is that what this is about? Y/N…” He smiled softly, resting a hand on your cheek. “Darlin’, you give me something to be thankful for every single day. Don’t you know how important you are to me, how happy you make me, how much I lov…”

He paused, his voice trailing off, but you could see the emotions written all over his face and you beamed. “Dean, I love you, too.”

His grin widened, happiness radiating out of it. “You do? Cause, I mean, you don’t have to say it just ‘cause you thought I was gonna say it. If you don’t really…”

“Shut up,” you laughed, leaning up to kiss him, your hands tangling with the foam blended in his hair as his arm tightened around your waist.

When you pulled back, both of your lips were covered in foam, but you didn’t care. “I think I should make pies more often,” you laughed.

“Mmm, hell yeah, you should,” he concurred, grinning as he leaned back in. “Although, maybe a little less fire extinguisher next time, huh?”


End file.
